


Space (Or the Lack Thereof)

by plentyofmalk



Series: Tumblr Prompts [5]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Aftermath of The Scene, Canon Compliant, F/M, Missing Scene, Pre-Series, Sci-Ops Era (Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D.), Somewhere between hard T and light M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-03
Updated: 2016-10-03
Packaged: 2018-08-19 09:29:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8200126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plentyofmalk/pseuds/plentyofmalk
Summary: Four different occasions where FitzSimmons find themselves precariously close together.





	

**1.**

“It’s too,” _clank_ , “small,” _thud_ , “Simmons!”

“Fitz, you’re being ridiculous. Look at the great view you’d get from--” As she said it, Simmons found herself stuck shoulder-to-shoulder with Fitz in the doorway to his (potential) bedroom. In what seemed to be an act of defiance, he somehow broadened his shoulders to create even less space for her, and she resisted the urge to smack him square in his plaid-button-up-covered chest. Instead, she quelled the quiet oomph that tried to escape her lungs and squeezed her way through the door.

Okay, so maybe it was a little small.

“As you were saying?” He asked, leaning against the doorway with his arms crossed, one smug eyebrow raised higher than the other.

She mimicked him, adding a jut of her hip to one-up his irritating mannerisms.

“The rent is perfectly within our budget, the lease is only for a year, it’s a ten minute walk from SciOps and only two blocks away from the thai place we like.” She ticked each reason off with her fingers before sticking them in front of his face. “There, I just gave you four compelling reasons. Now, give me just three reasons why we _shouldn’t_ apply for this apartment right now, and I promise I’ll be willing to negotiate with you.”

For a moment, Fitz stood there, thoughts rumbling in his brain as he stared her mocking fingers. The moment he squinted his eyes to glower, she knew she’d won.

“I get the other bedroom. It’s bigger.” He negotiated.

She threw her hands up in victory, even though the next words out of her mouth sounded very well like she was trying to start another argument.

“You want the one with the view of the brick wall instead of the sunrise every morning? If space means that much to you...”

“Trust me,” he said, “you’re going to be long sick of that sunrise before I’m ever regretting the extra floorspace. It’s going to be necessary for the innumerable projects I’ll be bringing home, no doubt.”

This time, when she move back to the kitchen to speak with the property manager, she ran into him intentionally, pressing herself through as exaggerated as possible and rolling her eyes all the while, feeling internally pleased when he tried to wiggle away. _Home (well, apartment)! With her best friend! Blocks away from their dream job!_

“Projects, sure. I give you 20 days before that entire room is covered in laundry.”

“Perfect,” Fitz said, jutting his chin defiantly, “I was betting 17 until you get sick of the view. Loser has to buy takeout for the month after?”

When he stuck his hand out, she shook it instinctively, then dragged him back to sign the application.

Fifteen days after they moved in, Simmons sat obnoxiously close to him on the couch, just so he could see her enjoy the takeout, purchased on his dime, all the better.

**2.**

He’d never felt farther from her than he did that day.

And no, he wasn’t talking about being separated by hundreds of feet and growing, as the plane drifter further forward while she plunged further downward. That was obvious. But it was earlier, separated by a layer of glass between them, arguing just like they would over a detail on something as professional as the Night-Night Gun, or as mundane as who was going to pick the movie that night at their old place, that it hit him.

He couldn’t get to her. Fitz couldn’t walk up, use his marginal height difference to glower over her, only to eventually feel ten inches tall when she inevitably countered his argument and brushed him aside. That couldn’t happen because she shouldn’t touch him because she was _infected_.

And then, yes, when she jumped out of a plan in some idiotic form of self-sacrifice, he’d felt pretty damn distant from her, too. Later, he’d think about having a talk with her about that: sacrificing herself for others and the damage it brings.

But at the moment all he could do was watch, feeling paralysed while a still-damp Ward carried an equally soaked Simmons up the cargo ramp, with Coulson trailing behind. Distractedly, he ran his hand over the change of clothes he’d fetched out of her bunk, knowing that she’d likely want to get out of the clothes she almost died in as quickly as possible. He joined the rest of the team, following them into the Med Bay, trying not to panic at her current state of unconsciousness. After all, they had no idea about the specific dosage a human would need, and he certainly wasn’t about to waste time calculating the specifics when she was falling to--

“Alright everyone, let’s get back in the air and give her some room. Fitz.”

He turned to Coulson at the sound of his name. “Sir?”

“Stay with her until she regains consciousness, then send her to me. Understood?”

Fitz swallowed before giving a brief nod, in understanding or gratitude. Probably both.

As everyone cleared out, he set the clothing at the end of the bed by her feet, before pulling up a chair to sit at her side. He tried not to pay attention to the time, but he could feel the minutes passing by, each slower than the last, it seemed.

He’d almost lost her. Hell, he _should have_ lost her. Simmons should, by all accounts, be floating in the middle of the ocean right now. He should be facing a life without his lab partner, without his roommate, his best friend, his... _oh God_ , his--

“Fitz?”

His eyes shot to her face, and he let go of the bed sheet he had unconsciously gripped onto, fingers taught and white-knuckled with stress. Fitz expected to be met with weariness or exhaustion, but instead she looked panicked, and the next thing he knew, he had to jump out of his seat to keep her from bolting out of bed. As it was, she still sat up in duress, swatting his hand away.

“No, Fitz, you can’t--” she pleaded, recoiling at the contact when his palm met her shoulder. “You can’t be infected, I have to--”

“Simmons, Jemma!” He brought his other hand to her side, not managing to lay her back down but at least succeeding in holding her still so he could explain. “It worked! Listen, Simmons, _you did it_. The antiserum worked. You’re okay.”

He watched the gravity of his words sink in, realization slowly replacing the dread in her brown eyes. _Not strictly brown_ , he thought, _but not green enough to be hazel. Almost gold around the iris..._

As her face grew brighter with relief, he felt his own grow darker. _I would have never known that if Ward hadn’t caught up with her._

Simmons’ (golden brown) eyes bubbled over with tears even as she laughed. Without a second to process what he was doing, Fitz curled her up in a hug so tight he let out a puff of air from the force of it. It felt, he realized, like he was trying to make up for the space that had forced itself between them that day. In some insignificant way, he was claiming their closeness back.

She hiccupped out a triumphant _‘We did it!’_ that overlapped his repeated _‘You’re okay.’_

The blue wool of her jumper was damp under his chin, and even though he could didn’t need the physical reminder, he could begin to feel the chill of her hands seep through his shirt where they clung to his shoulderblades. 

“I brought you a change of clothes.” He said, still not letting go. Even though he couldn’t see her face, hugging her as he was, he could imagine the relieved smiled on her face as she sighed.

He tried to both memorize and _not at all think about_ the contrast of her warm breath on the back of his neck as she did so.

“Oh, thank God.” She said. “I’ll be happy to retire this number for a while, I think.”

“Yeah,” Fitz murmured, drawing her closer one last time. Personally, he’d be glad to never see the bloody outfit again, for all the memories he’d surely be attaching to that crisp white collar.

**3.**

A small huff escaped Fitz as Jemma collapsed on top of him, her forearms dropping from where they had been putting in an impressive workout on his chest to bracket his torso. His body felt like it was on fire except for where her breath tickled his collarbone, casting short but heavy puffs of air that stretched across his skin.

It was... _magnificent_.

He tried to memorize everything. The artwork hanging on the wall to his left, the warm colors of the room, the faint sounds of Bucharest trickling in through the room’s window. And more importantly, the notches of Jemma’s spine under his fingertips, the way she squirmed when he’d accidentally discovered she was incredibly ticklish just above her knees if he squeezed with any pressure, and the way his stubble would catch on the hair at the crown of her head when she was tucked under his chin, like she currently was.

An aftershock of her orgasm caught him off guard where they were still joined, causing a million other sensations, sound bites and... _other_ bites to race through his head, demanding to be remembered. How did one explain to their own brain, Fitz wondered, that those things were already burned into his memory forever?

The spasm pulled a rumbling groan from his throat, followed by a breathless laugh from where Jemma lay on top of him.

They stayed like that for a moment, chests rising and falling in sync with each other, perfectly content to let their bodies take the time they needed to come down to normal again. Her hand eventually came to wrap loosely around his bicep, gripping the muscle underneath. Meanwhile, his own curious fingers trailed from her backside to the newly-discovered ticklish zone at her knees. Just as he was about to exploit the newfound knowledge again, the hand on his bicep turned to swat him instead.

_Later_ , he thought, unable to stop the lazy smile it brought to his face. Because now, there would be a later. There was no returning to a time before this moment, and no way to take back the step forward they had taken together. More importantly, neither would, even if it were possible.

He was at a loss for words. What did you say to your best friend after having the best sex of your life, _with them_? What hadn’t already been said in heated gasps and whispered words against skin, or poured into each other’s ears like secrets you wanted to share with them forever?

“I--”

“That was--”

Jemma tilted her head to look at him properly, both silent after interrupting each other’s sentences. He marveled at the beautiful smile painted across her face, long shed of the lipstick that she’d been wearing earlier. Of course, she (and he) were shed of everything they had been wearing earlier, anyways.

They shared a laugh together before he brought his hand to cup her jaw, bringing her close enough to capture her lips once more. It was lazy and somewhat sloppy, and he was certain that her smile was even wider when she eventually pulled away.

Just as he was about to attempt speech again, he felt the way her body shuddered against the cool air of the room. Placing a quick kiss to her temple, he let go of her to reach for the comforter on either side of him, tossing each edge over until they were wrapped up together.

She cast him a glance that he just knew conveyed, _‘A couple more minutes,’_ before hugging his sides and resting her head against his chest once more.

Words, he realized, really weren’t necessary.

**4.**

“It’s too,” _clank_ , “small,” _thud_ , “Fitz!”

“Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing, Simmons. I would appreciate if you kept the mocking to yourself, and you certainly-- _Hey!_ ” Fitz protested, finding himself pressed uncomfortably close against the kitchen island when Jemma pushed into his back.

“How are we ever going to cook in here? I don’t think I can _breathe_!” She squirmed behind him, intentionally making it difficult for him to move, just as he did to her all those years ago when they were apartment hunting together.

Except now, they weren’t fresh out of the academy. They were older, and carried the weight of everything that came with a job full of danger, betrayal and close calls. She’d been to hell and back without him, he’d been to hell and back _for her_ , and there was no telling what kinds of peril awaited them back at the base in the future.

But in this moment, as she watched Fitz twist himself around to face her, she saw the same playful indignation he carried years ago when he was too lazy to search for apartments himself, but certainly grumpy enough to find something wrong in all the places she found for them. So of course, when he took the initiative this time around, and found _‘The place of your dreams, Simmons,’_ she knew she wasn’t going to let him win without a fight.

Even if he was right.

“In case you haven’t noticed,” he said, interrupting her thoughts, “this place is _quite_ spacious for Perthshire. Any more square footage and we’ll be looking into small castles.” 

His tone belied the sternness of his words, and his hand ran gingerly up to her shoulders. She gave him a rye smile that tugged just enough at the edges of her mouth.

“You don’t think we should get a castle?” She asked.

He chuckled. “I think,” he said, “that it’s obviously been awhile since you’ve glanced at those paychecks SHIELD hands out to us.”

She leaned into him, taking in the exposed stone of the fireplace in the living room, and the windows that allowed light to enter into the space from all directions. It smelled faintly of dust, and as it mixed with Fitz’s aftershave and the fabric softener tickling her nose at his collar, she realized it might be her new favorite scent.

She could feel him begin to tense, probably nervous and taking her silence to mean she was disappointed.

“Besides, this doesn’t have to be where we stay forever. Or we don’t have to stay here at all. I just thought it had the major things we’d talked about, and the view from the bedroom--”

“Yes.”

“--erfect for watching the s-- Wait, what?”

She wrapped her arms around him, hugging as tight as she could and smiling as he mirrored her actions. He sighed, but she wasn’t sure if it was from relief, or because she was doing her best to squeeze the air from his lungs.

“I said, yes. I think we should get it.” She pulled her head back enough to see how his eyes lit up at her words, as if there was ever really a chance she would’ve felt otherwise. “And don’t act like you didn’t know I wouldn’t be on board this place immediately,” she added.

He breathed out a laugh, taking his right arm away from her back to grab at her left until her palm rested in his own. He rubbed lazy circles on the back of her hand with his thumb, before bringing it up to place a gentle kiss on the newly acquired ring that graced her finger.

“Okay.” His eyes closed and his smile grew wider. “Okay.”

“Now,” she said with a hint of mischief, “show me our bedroom.”

“Simmons, the real estate agent is _right outside_ …” Fitz admonished.

She linked their fingers together and gave him a quick peck on the lips before dragging him toward what she could only assume were the bedrooms. “To _view_ , Fitz. My goodness, do you really think I’d be so brazen?”

He laughed behind her. “I love you.”

She turned her head back and smiled. “I love you, too. And I _think_ I love this place, if you’d finish giving me a tour. These hallways seem a bit narrow, don’t you think?”

It was a good thing that the floorboards gave and creaked under the weight of footsteps, otherwise they would have been caught in a very precarious position when the agent ventured in after them some minutes later.

**Author's Note:**

> For inevitablyfitzsimmons on tumblr, who requested the prompt, "things you said with no space between us."
> 
> Find me on tumblr: plentyofmalk.


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